


Stay

by erelis



Series: Seasonal Shorts [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 03:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erelis/pseuds/erelis
Summary: One day out of the year, Felix always shows up on time.





	Stay

Despite being habitually late for absolutely everything else, on one day every year, Felix shows up promptly at 1515. It doesn't matter where they are or what else is going on. Without fail, he's there. It's become an unintentional tradition and since they started it, nearly twenty-five years ago, he has yet to break it.

He arrives in the same dark suit, worth more credits than the car Locus drives these days, with a cocky smile and one small orange flower tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket. Locus lets him in by the second knock, already on his way to the door before the first comes, and they head straight to the living room. Or on those occasions when they're off-planet, into whatever space serves the same function. On the way, Felix plucks the flower from his jacket and, upon reaching their destination, sets it down precisely in the center of the table that's always waiting for them, overflowing with food.

Locus gets the tequila—it's always tequila—and for a little while, they drink in companionable silence. After practically a lifetime together, it isn't necessary to fill the space between them with words. But Felix can't remain silent forever. And if he's being honest, neither can Locus.

It inevitably starts with a "Do you remember when...?"

Sometimes Locus says it first. Sometimes Felix does. Either way, eventually it gets loose and they start trading stories they both know by heart. A lot of it is about Siris, because he'd been their friend, whatever Felix likes to pretend, and because he shaped so much of their lives. But it's not just Siris. It's about the war, too. The people they've met along the way. Here and there, sprinkled in among the shared experiences are the private ones too. Their childhoods, the odd adventure taken alone or a conversation that occurred when the other had been out of earshot. These rare stories are gifts, though neither of them acts as if they're anything special.

The hours fly by, measured by the level of tequila in the bottle like an old-fashioned hourglass. Locus sips his drinks, savoring the taste of the alcohol that, some years, takes considerable cost to procure. Felix always drinks the first glass quickly, downs it like he's taking a shot at one of those clubs Locus still hates to this day, but he lingers over the ones that follow as if he knows it'll be another year before he tastes such high-quality liquor again.

The good stuff, the _real_ stuff, comes from Earth. And Earth is a long fucking way away.

Too soon—always too soon, even when it takes hours—the bottle's empty. When it's empty, Locus knows that Felix will leave. Each year, he draws it out a little longer. Drinks a little slower. Pours a little slower. Felix knows what he's doing, but he never calls him on it. Never drinks faster, even though he could. 

_Stay_ , Locus wants to tell him. _Please. Stay._

Every year, the urge to say it grows stronger. Every year, he holds his tongue against the pleas he knows he can't utter. Every year, the desperation grows. Every year, it takes willpower he doesn't know he has not to reach out, take hold of Felix, and try to force him to stay.

He can't. Of course he can't. He lost that power, that right, long ago. But the impulse to do it anyway doesn't fade.

Near the end, Felix always gives him the same smile, hazy with drink and memories both good and bad. Maybe a little regret, though Locus never dares to ask. He lost the right to do that, too. He sets his glass down next to the flower and gets to his feet. Locus rises with him, feeling his age in his bones then more than he does at any other moment, and walks him to the door. They exchange goodbyes there, heavy with the weight of all the things they've never said, before Felix heads off into the night.

Locus watches from the doorway until he can't see him anymore, wanting to call out into the darkness after him and knowing that it will do no good. He waits a little longer, feet too leaden to move, before he finally, with heavy hands and a heavier heart, shuts the door.

Late though the hour always is by the time Felix departs, he never sleeps. He just sits there on the couch until dawn, holding the flower Felix left behind gently in his hand, and plays a private game of _remember when_ safe within the confines of his mind.

This year, Locus starts getting ready for their annual celebration early. He spends an exorbitant sum of credits getting the freshest, most authentic ingredients shipped in from Earth. No substitute produce or spices native to closer colonies. No cut corners.

Because this year, he's decided, the night's going to end differently.

"It's been years, Sam," Felix had said to him last year, dark eyes serious over the rim of his glass in those final seconds before he set it down and stood to go. It was the closest they'd ever come to having a real conversation about what had transpired on Chorus. "You can't keep beating yourself up over it. Shit happens, yeah? Quit blaming yourself and let it go."

Much easier said than done, though he's been thinking about it ever since. Constantly. Every day. It's the first time thoughts of forgiveness run parallel to the self-flagellation and guilt. But it isn't easy to imagine setting it aside. He can't absolve himself of what he's done. He can't pretend that it's fine just because decades have passed. Yet for Felix to suggest it, in spite of having every reason _not_ to forgive him, means that he can't simply discount the idea.

It's a work in progress. A year since the suggestion was made and he still hasn't been able to do it. But he's closer now than he was then. He's taken the first step by considering it a possibility. He's taken the second by resolving that this time, he won't be silent.

This year, he promises, not sure if he's promising himself or Felix or both of them, he'll say all the things he should have said to Felix years ago.

So he makes the bread the way he knows Felix prefers it, sprinkled with sugar instead of seeds, and the sauce for the meat as spicy as he can. He fills a large bowl with oranges and limes because Felix has always been partial to them, and a small one with those strange red fruits that only grow on Reach. And though it takes him all afternoon the day before, he makes the little candy skulls Felix has always insisted on eating and decorates them with thin lines of icing in the colors of their old armor.

At 1455, he sets the table, arranging the flatware in meticulous order, with the main dishes in the middle and the sides, appetizers, and desserts radiating outward. In the center, he places a vase filled with moa feathers, not for their decorative value but because he's listened very closely to those tales of Felix's childhood.

At 1500, he sets two glasses on the table and, this time, two bottles of tequila beside them.

At 1514, he goes to the door, ready to open it before Felix finishes the first knock.

_Stay,_ he's going to tell him. _Just stay. The rest doesn't matter. We'll figure it out._

This year, there's no knock on the door. 1515 comes and goes. Locus stands by the door, waiting.

The two bottles of tequila sit untouched on the table.


End file.
